Old English flEogan to fly -- more at FLY
Friday, November 23, 2007
My thankfulness sometimes overwhelms me. I'm really thankful for these rowdy, using-the-wrong-fork *ahem* not-using-a-fork-at-all, giggling, dirty-socks-on-the-floor-dropping, too-long-in-the-shower-taking, random-love-note-leaving, homework-forgetting, sand-in-the-house-traipsing, whining, splashing, digging, planting, painting, sculpting, running, falling, knee-scraping, toe-stubbing, early-rising, pancake-making, no-waaaay-a-crush-on-someone-in-class-having, snuggling, reading, laughing, dancing, goal-scoring, sibling-teasing, golden-haired, sunny-smiling children.
I know what love is: It is this boy and this girl.
And then there is all the magic around me: The computer, the Web, the date buds sprouting from the tree in front, the radio in the kitchen, the music, Claritin (no more sneezing!), the warm water from the faucet, these Sharpie pens, the grocery store, human speech, written language, paper, the ports of Los Angeles and San Pedro, the spider web that stretches from the sycamore to the corner of the house, the perfection of natural systems, the beauty of all nature ... I am truly overwhelmed and I am thankful also for the sense of wonder.
And then there is the goodness all around me: The awesome neighbors, the friendly emails from strangers with a compliment, the sewing sisters around the world, the friends I still have from junior high, high school and college, my new friends, who feel just as gold--not silver--as the old, my dear husband, my retail partners, Sabine and Farbenmix, my dad, my sister, the guy who jumped out of his truck to help me gather up the boxes I dropped going to the Post Office, the moms with whom I exchange play dates...
My kids are pretty finicky eaters. I have discovered, however, that they are more likely to eat something if it is "mini": Mini burgers, mini pizzas, mini potatoes, mini-eggs (quail), mini trees (broccoli) and so forth. Thusly, the centerpiece of our Thanksgiving dinner was mini turkeys (a.k.a. rock Cornish game hens). Everybody gets their oooown turkey. Everybody gets their o000wn wishbone. I get my wish, too: Just one hour babysitting baking poultry instead of 3 or 4.
Thank you, too, for reading this.